


No Mercy

by RA Couture (rachcouture)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Cyberpunk, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Film Noir, First Kiss, French Kissing, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Making Out, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-24 13:16:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7509835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachcouture/pseuds/RA%20Couture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mercy finds herself in the crosshairs of a volatile riot and aided by an unlikely companion. Repressed feelings and regrets begin to surface.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Parisian Backstreets - Night

**Author's Note:**

> Please excuse the short chapters. I'm a glorified script writer with a narrative flair and greatly prefer to write by scene.
> 
> Attempts to maintain lore-friendliness have been taken. Hope it shows!

Paris, 2076. Riots flair, repressed hatred reignited -- history repeats.

Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, 37, one of the first to respond, Valkyrie suit glistening in cloud-filtered moonlight. An omnic man stands to her front. He lurches forward, backs her further into the proverbial corner. Tense concern washes over her face. Several more watch from behind.

The tables had turned. She was on the offensive.

His knuckles curl inward; calls out to her. "Overwatch can go to hell!"

"I swear to you, I had nothing to do with that operation. I wasn't even in the same country at the time." Angela pleads. Her voice trembles. "You know as well as I do that casting stones won't bring her b-"

A steel fist plows into her cheek.

"... back." She forces a smile trough the pain.

An onlooker charges. Mercy flinches. Rusted iron piping clashes with the shaft of her Caduceus staff. Doesn't save her from a kick to the stomach; slams hard into the alleyway masonwork, warm blood coughed up and flowing from the corner of Angela's lips. She can barely stand.

They make sure she doesn't. The heel of an omnic boot comes next, jammed through the calve; forces her to the ground. Angela cries out in pain, a single warning across Valkyrie's HUD: 'FRACTURE DETECTED.'

Rain begins to fall. The mob descends on her like mechanical vultures.

 

* * *

 

'USER DEATH IMMINENT. SEEK MEDICAL ATTENTION IMMEDIATELY.'

Cascading rifle shots bring Mercy back from the brink, red tracers a blur in her fading vision. Omnics crumple to the ground one-by-one. She doesn't fair much better.

The hunter descends from the rooftops and down grappling hook tripwire, lithe stature silhoutted in the night. Moves towards Angela, heels clicking against neon-drenched wet concrete.

"Amélie... ?"

Kneels before her, headgear retracting back, red glow dimmed. "You've the wrong woman, mon cheri." Widowmaker shakes her head. "Close your eyes. You needn't suffer any more for today."

Her eyelids give in without question.


	2. Countryside Safehouse - Night

A sharp breath fills Mercy's lungs, eyes shot open, one in the dark. She lays in bed -- ornate wrought iron -- blankets tucked just below the bust. Her whole body aches, throbs in a dull pain. Weathered floral patterns creep across Victorian walls.

"Awake so soon?"

Across the room stands Amélie "Widowmaker" Lacroix, 33, cigarette burning off a theatre-length holder resting between parted lips. She's in a black knit sweater; it clings snug to her body and off one shoulder, hem towards the thighs, thick violet hair let down below the rear.

Never looked more shy.

"Thought I'd have more time to myself..."

Rain falls outside the adjacent window, somber chanson off a quiet old record player. Angela struggles to speak. "Where are we?"

"Outside Paris." Amélie stubs her cigarette out in an antique glass ashtray. "Closest thing I've ever had to a vacation home. I'd tell you to make yourself comfortable, but..." Glances back to Angela. "... don't think you have much choice in the matter."

Mercy draws the sheets to the side -- stripped down to a white camisole and bikini cut panties, countless bruises and scrapes creeping out from bloody bandage wraps. Additional gauze tends to her forehead and left eye.

"Trying to tempt me, mon cher?"

Her attention shoots to a sly Amélie. "Mmm, granted, I've already seen the rest..."

A given. Doesn't stop Angela from blushing, though. She tries to change the subject. "Why?"

"Why haven't I tried to kill you?" Widowmaker cuts her off. "Hmph. I thought you smarter than that, Miss Ziegler." Moves bedside, glaring down at her pitiful ward. "No thrill in hunting wounded prey."

Mercy struggles to make eye contact -- looks more wounded than ever.

"My, you are adorable when you pout, aren't you?" Mattress springs creak underneath Widow. She's lounging inches away from Mercy now. Their eyes meet. "And in my _boudoir_ , all wrapped and nowhere to go. Dangerous place to be. The situation couldn't be anymore in my favor."

A cold index finger traces over Angela's tender stomach. She gasps, flinches at the touch. "You wouldn't."

"Are you implying you'd object?"

Mercy shuts her eyes. The blush says it all.

"Mmm, I am wondering, though..."

They open. "Yes?"

Widow seems closer than ever. "What did that man want from you?"

"Overwatch was to blame for the loss of a loved one. An honest accident, I'm sure." Angela tries to smile. "I was home in Zürich tending to volunteer medical work at the time. Only heard about it from the others."

Amélie rolls on her back, bare legs illuminated in moonlight. Takes hold of something off the adjacent nightstand -- Mercy's Caduceus Blaster. Dangles it in the air above like a plaything, brows furrowed. "And you didn't think to use this?"

Angela chews on her lower lip. Shakes her head. "We made a mistake, and his anger was justified. More violence wouldn't solve anything."

"Hmph. Harmless as a dove." Widows tosses the handgun to the side. "Try and get some rest. You're no good to anyone like this. Not even me."

Those words catch Mercy by surprise. Her heart skips a beat. Tries to process them, exhaustion settling in, eyelids heavy. They fall. Fingers stroking through her messy blonde hair lull her back to sleep.


	3. Countryside Safehouse - Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phone dialog is italicized for clarity.

" _Lena?"_

_"Oi love! How's Paris?"_

_"It's, er... not so well. Not quite what I imagined."_

_"Not sure I follow, love."_

_"Got hurt pretty bad in the riots. Don't worry, though, I'm... I'm fine. Healing up."_

_"You sure, Angie? Sound pretty roughed up. Sure the crew can fly in. Hell, I'll come either way! Don't need my best mate down for the count, now do I?"_

Angela manages a quiet laugh. _"I appreciate your concern, dear. I really do; i'll be alright, though, promise. I'm... with someone. An old friend. They're keeping an eye on me."_

 _"Ooooooh~"_ There's an elongated gasp on the other end. _"Finally got yourself a date, eh? And to think, you didn't even tell your old pal Tracer! Feelin' quite left out now."_

 _"No, no, it's not anything like that."_ Mercy giggles. It ends in a stifled cough. _"Someone you know, though."_

_"Oh?"_

She falls silent.

_"Still there, love?"_

_"Y-yes! It's er... well it's... it's Amélie."_

_"... you pullin' my leg?"_

_"No. She... she's the one that saved me, if you can believe it. Carried me to safety. Tended to my wounds. We're outside Paris right now. An old Victorian farmhouse, I think."_

_"Angie..."_

_"I'll be fine. Honest. She's..."_ Angela takes a deep breath. _"... I don't know how to put it, really. But I don't feel threatened."_

Tracer falls silent.

_"Trust me?"_

_"... yeah, yeah, alright, but if you even get an inklin' that something's off, you'll call and let me know?"_

_"Of course."_

The smile can practically be heard.  _"Alright, love. Take care of yourself."_

_"Auf wiedersehen~."_

Mercy lets out a heavy sigh as the call disconnects, cellphone left on the nightstand, eyes to the bedside window. Cracks of morning sunlight creep through heavy rainclouds.

"Amélie?" No answer. She was gone by the time Mercy woke up. Her hand clings to the sheet hems, loneliness and vulnerability setting in; draws them back and tries to sit up. A sharp pain shoots up through Angela's spine. She whimpers out, but pushes through, legs dangling over the bedside. Stops to catch her breath. Light rain trickles outside.

Hobbling on her good leg to the bedroom door is marginally easier. Downwards to the first floor is another story, each step a timely struggle. The scent of fresh coffee lingers in the air; it lures her further towards a quaint country kitchen, no less antiquated.

Amélie sits alone -- table for two, and with a view -- steam rising off the stained ceramic cupped in her hands, same sweater as the night before. The creaking door frame steals her attention almost immediately; shoots Mercy a scolding glare. "Mon dieu, what _are_ you doing?"

Angela tries to smile. "I'm Swiss; you know I can't resist a good cup of coffee."

Widowmaker rolls her eyes. She's at Mercy's side in no time, arms supporting at the shoulders and hips; helps her across the room. Hot coffee pours into a spare cup.

"I really am glad to see you."

Amélie stops, lips parted.

"I mean it." Angela smiles at her. "Not how I imagined we'd meet again... but I'm happy all the same."

Widow sits across from her. "And how did you expect it to happen?"

Mercy falls silent, somber eyes to the spring shower outside. Doesn't answer.

 

* * *

 

A warm fire crackles in front of Mercy and Widowmaker. They're on the living room couch now, previous silence maintained.

Angela takes a deep breath, crocheted blanket draped around her shoulders. She's the first to speak. "Amélie?"

"... oui?" Widow doesn't make eye contact -- lost in her thoughts.

"You know I care about you, yes?"

Amélie groans under her breath. "You care about everyone. That's nothing new."

"True, but you? Maybe a little more so." Mercy smiles to herself. It's a shy one. "Your optimism was so contagious. It gave us hope, even at our worst moments. Even me." She pauses. "In truth, there were times when it was... hard, to watch you with your husband."

Widow slams her eyes shut. "Don't. This isn't a path you want to pursue-"

"Amélie, please." She's cut off. "I may never get to see you again, certainly not like this. Let me have this moment."

There's no objection.

"Thank you." Mercy rests a hand on Widow's. "I've worried about you ever since you left. It's something I think about all the time, even when I want to forget. I... don't know what happened, for you to change sodrastically. I probably don't even want to know. But as of last night, I've felt like there's a tiny part of the old Amélie in there somewhere, and I still admire her, and want her to come home."

Amélie's eyes gloss over wet. Her hand trembles underneath Angela's.

"I'm not asking for an answer right this second. That wouldn't be fair to you. But I'd like you to think about it, from now until I'm well enough to be on my own. Is that something you could do for me?"

"Sure." She gives a hesitant nod. "But don't expect the answer you are hoping for."

Mercy extends her arms. Widow eases into them, no less apprehensive. Angela embraces her with all the strength she has left, legs swung over Amélie's lap, blanket bundled around them. Her head falls heavy against Widow's shoulder. Consistent warm breaths blows against cold violet skin.


	4. Swiss HQ - Night

Zürich's skyline twinkles across massive panoramic windows, lights off -- Swiss Headquarters Medical Division, three years prior.

"Working on a holiday?"

Angela perks her head, black silk tailored dress shirt two-thirds buttoned, grey tweed mini skirt tight on the hips and over black sheer thigh-highs. 

"Ah, Miss Lacroix." She looks to her and smiles. "Always. Something I can help you with?"

"Just wondering when you were going to join us."

Glossy black ballet flats click across tile, buckles across the toe end. They're matched to a short and slinky cocktail dress playing off Amélie's dancer physique.

Angela lets out a shy laugh. "In a moment."

"I believe that's what you told Lena half an hour ago, and Ana before that." Amélie stands to Mercy's front, hands on her hips. "It's New Year's Eve, mon cher. Take a break. You've earned it. We all have."

Angela smiles a little wider, no less coy; shuts the lid on the notebook in her lap. "Alright." Sets it on the adjacent side table, deep breath inhaled. "How's Gerard?"

"Good. Couldn't make it, though."

Her smile fades. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Amélie lounges on the nearby couch, legs crossed. Toys with a strand of her lengthy auburn hair. "The only person I know that works themselves harder than you, and he happens to be my husband. What a world we live in."

"You know he adores you." Angela's is pinned-up, messy as always.

"I do." Hurt flickers across Amélie's eyes. "And I tell myself I love him all the same, but it doesn't make it any easier."

"Of course it doesn't." Angela eases onto her aching feet. Moves towards the couch, but trips partway there; gasps -- "Verdammt!" Stops herself just above Amélie, one hand braced on the woman's shoulder, the other to the back of the couch. She's blushing hard now, blonde fringe fallen across the face.

Amélie just grins. Tries hard not to laugh. "Bonsoir, madame."

"Guten Abend..." Angela smiles back, breathless. A pair of understated heels lay sideways across the floor. "Not the first time I've done that. You think I would have learned by now."

Tries to look away, but can't avoid it; their eyes meet. Amélie's blushing, too, lips slightly parted. Smells like perfume and fresh champaign. She starts to lean in. Kisses Angela for the first time.

"Amélie..."

Does it again, hands to Mercy's cheeks; locks her out with more kisses and hints of tongue, nose brushing against crooked designer glasses.

Angela straddles herself over Amélie, hesitance fading. She's starting to kiss back now. Moves down to Amélie's jawline.

"How on Earth are you single... ?"

Stops for a moment. "Too busy. Never have time to date."

"Would you make time for me?"

"My door is always open to you, just like everyone else." Mercy smiles. "You know that."

Amélie shakes her head. "You know what I meant."

Angela slams her eyes shut, brows furrowed in conflict. Takes a moment to think. "Were the circumstances different, then... yes, I would." They open.

Amélie's lips curve into a bright, infatuated smile. "Merci..." Kisses her new love again with repent passion. It wouldn't be the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So steamy, so scandalous. I was pretty certain this would end in sex during the conceptual phase, but once I started writing, I struggled to picture either of them pushing for it, at least so soon.


End file.
